


Asking For It

by Oriole T (inamac)



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-15
Updated: 1998-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Oriole%20T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Actor drew on his pipe and exhaled a plume of smoke.  "I told you, in those pants he's asking for it." His eyes dipped to Garrison's nether regions.  "You're not much better."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Asking For It

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This was written for Gorilla Warfare a Garrison's Gorillas fanzine produced in 1998 by Green Dragon Press (UK). The action takes place within three broadcast episodes of the series and includes some script quotation, copyright on which is the property of the original scriptwriters. All other text and plot is original.

# Asking For It

  
By Oriole   


 

 _England. Spring 1943_

 

The crash echoed through the building and shook a fine rain of dust from the curls of the plaster acanthus leaves which ringed the light fitting over Garrison's desk. Automatically, the Lieutenant shook the document which he had been reading, signed and blotted the final sheet, and placed it in his out tray before getting to his feet. The noises from above had muted to a series of irregular thuds which suggested that the fight was progressing nicely. If he timed it right Casino and whichever of the others who had upset him this time might be sufficiently exhausted to stop of their own accord when he entered the room.

He had reached the end of the first floor corridor and was about to open the heavy oak doors when the noise from the other side, far from stopping, reached an unexpected crescendo.

"Hey, you can't..."

"You crazy..."

 _"Basta!..il str..."_

That last ended in a choked off cry.

Actor? Involved in a brawl?

Garrison slammed the door open so hard that it thudded against the wall. The sound and action froze the four men in the room.

It was Chief who moved first. Of necessity.

When Garrison had entered the Indian had had his back to the door; now he turned his head, looking over his shoulder. He was leaning over Actor, who was in turn sprawled on his back half across the big circular table. Chief's left hand had the bigger man pinned by his shoulder, and the right held a bloody knife to his throat. There was more blood running down Actor's free forearm, soaking through a slashed shirt sleeve where he had apparently tried to block the attack.

This was not just a brawl. This was attempted murder.

"Drop it," Garrison commanded, unnecessarily as Chief, breathing hard, had straightened and released the knife on his entrance. Goniff, who was closest, kicked it out of the way and bent to help Actor to his feet.

"Warden," he began, to be stopped by Garrison's scowl. The Lieutenant was not going to listen to excuses this time.

"You and Casino get Actor down to the first aid room and fix him up. I'll see him in my office when you've finished."

Nothing more was said until the door had closed on the three men. Then Garrison nodded at the Indian. "Okay, Chief, what was all that about?"

"Nuthin' Warden."

"You don't try to kill someone for 'nothing' Chief. There has to be a reason." Even as he said it he was all too aware of the irony of the comment. He had read Chief's dossier, was well aware that his convictions appeared to be almost entirely for actions that, to the judge and jury had appeared to have no motivation other than the Indian's hot temper. But there had always been reasons. The long and difficult interview which had taken place three months before in the prison Governor's office had revealed that. Chief had a code of honour as rigid as anything that might be drilled into the cadets at West Point. When Chief gave trust he expected support in return and when he did not get it when he was, in his terms, betrayed, then he took swift retribution.

But Chief had never trusted Actor, so how could he have been betrayed?

"Whatever it is that Actor's done, couldn't you trust me to deal with it?"

"Not this, Warden. Just... my business. Won't happen again." Chief had not raised his eyes. Garrison, anxious to force a reaction, reached out to touch the other man's wrist.

Chief jerked away as if he had been burned.

"Chief, what happens in this team is my business. I can't deal with this unless I know what's going on. And Actor will give me his version. I want yours."

"Actor's..." Chief bit off whatever he had been about to say.

Reining in his impatience with difficulty, Garrison said, quietly, "What did Actor do, Chief?"

After what seemed an eternity the Indian's eyes finally lifted to meet his. "He... touched me."

"What?" It was the last thing that Garrison had expected. And it explained nothing.

Chief took a breath, apparently both exasperated and, weirdly, amused by the other man's reaction.

"He touched me up. That pervert pinched my ass so hard he's left bruises." Chief was looking directly into Garrison's eyes now. With an air of defiance he added, "Told you I didn't trust him, Warden. The man's a faggot."

Garrison was saved from responding by a diffident knock at the door and Goniff's voice tentatively asking: "Warden?"

"Wait," he commanded, and turned back to Chief. "I'll talk to Actor. This won't happen again. Now, you'd better clean that knife and sort out this room."

He turned without waiting for a reply and opened the door to admit Goniff and Casino. The latter informed him that Actor had been tended to and was now waiting in Garrison's office as requested. The Lieutenant nodded, told the pair to help Chief to clear up, and left.

Garrison slowed as he reached the staircase.

After Chief's revelation he was regretting the impulse which had ordered this interview. Disciplining any of the team was difficult, but Actor was over ten years his senior and with a wealth of experience and expertise that Garrison was already learning to rely on. Actor was a key member of the team he was trying to forge here, and he'd gotten the impression that the conman was willing to help him, was already making a play for the role of second in command.

And now this...

He had reached the door of his office. He opened it to see Actor sitting in the visitor's chair, feet up on the desk, thumbing tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. He looked so relaxed, so unconcerned, despite the strip of plaster across his neck and the bandage showing through the cut shirt sleeve, that Garrison said what he had been thinking without considering the consequences. "Were you out of your mind?"

Actor looked up casually. "Chief told you then? I wondered if he would."

"Actor, what in Hell possessed you?"

The conman shrugged, and winced as the motion pulled his wounded arm. "Some things are too tempting to resist, especially after a year in jail. Besides, any man who wears pants that tight is asking for it."

Garrison, who had been expecting excuses or denial, suddenly found the ground cut from under him.

"And you're asking to be sent straight back to jail..." He broke off, and ran a hand through his hair, fighting his own inclination to hit Actor. He had known when he had been given this command that disciplining criminals would not be easy. Without military options for punishment there was only the threat of sending them back to serving the rest of their sentences - a threat which, compared with the dangers of their missions, might prove to be no threat at all. And he needed Actor especially.

"If you were feeling that frustrated there are plenty of women in the village you could proposition."

"It's raining," Actor pointed out. "Besides, there was always the chance Chief might be interested."

"What!"

Actor drew on his pipe and exhaled a plume of smoke. "I told you, in those pants he's asking for it." His eyes dipped to Garrison's nether regions. "You're not much better."

Astonished, embarrassed, and deeply conscious that the involuntary tightening of his muscles had just emphasised the truth of Actor's statement, Garrison rounded the desk and sat. With his eyes on a level with Actor's he felt more in charge of the situation.

"Actor," he continued, deciding that ignoring the interruption was the most prudent course in the circumstances, "in case Chief hasn't made his views perfectly clear, I will. If you ever so much as think of... propositioning... any member of this team in future I will personally ensure that you go straight back to Alcatraz to rot. Is that clear?"

"As diamond," said Actor, climbing to his feet. "And if they proposition me?" There was just the faintest hint of a twinkle in the conman's eyes.

Garrison's fingers closed around the glass paperweight on the desk in lieu of Actor's neck, and squeezed. "Get out," he said, tightly, controlling himself with an effort. He was not sure himself whether he wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all or to beat the man into a pulp. "We board for France at 0600. I don't want to see you before then."

 

 _Occupied France. Spring 1943_

 

Actor was aware, as he paced the narrow confines of the cell, of Chief's tension, although the other man was as motionless as a cat watching the guards patrolling the corridor outside the cell. He was grateful that the Germans had taken the Indian's knives. You could have cut the atmosphere with something far blunter.

"Don't proposition a member of the team," Garrison had said. Actor had never intended to. He had simply reacted by instinct to a familiar stimulus. On the streets of Nice or Rome before the war the boys would have treated it as a compliment. He certainly had. There were times when he wondered whether taking out American citizenship had really been such a good idea. The Americans were such a strange mixture of the visionary and puritanical. Garrison himself was a prime example; half the time the correct obedient soldier, the other half thinking up wildly imaginative plans that left him speechless with admiration.

At least Garrison's plans usually worked. His seemed to end up in jail all too often these days.

And this time there was no prospect of parole. They were more likely to be shot as spies.

Damn his impulsiveness. If he had not agreed to Ettienne's proposition this would not have happened.

And if he had not gone to Ettienne's cafe in search of Claudine... That had been a risk, but a calculated one. Even if he had found out about it Garrison could hardly have complained about him looking up an old girlfriend. Claudine was at least the right sex to satisfy the Lieutenant's rigid sensibilities. Even the army turned a blind eye to 'comforts for the troops'.

Though not, perhaps, while the troops were meant to be on active service.

His thoughts had just begun to return full circle. Disgusted, as much with himself as Ettienne, he threw himself down on the bench at the rear of the cell. Chief, attracted away from the cell door by the motion, gave his own derisive snort.

"Easy, huh? Just like takin' candy from a baby? I'd like to get my hooks into that double-crossin' buddy of yours."

Actor nodded, wishing that he had his pipe, or at least a cigarette, to calm his own nerves. "I expect the Warden feels the same way about us by now."

Chief looked at him sharply; apparently the thought of Garrison's retribution had not been uppermost in the Indian's mind, but before he could make any comment the cell door was pushed open and Casino was thrust unceremoniously through. It slammed behind him before the cracksman had fully recovered his balance.

Chief caught his arms to steady him. "What did you tell them?" he asked, urgently.

Casino grinned. "That I was sorry and that I'd never do it again."

The humour did not go down well with the Indian. Actor moved to join them. There was a more urgent question on his mind. "Did they interrogate you in English?"

Casino, as usual when a caper went wrong, sought refuge in sarcasm. "No," he snapped, "Chinese."

It was not encouraging. "We'd better find a way of getting out of here. If they don't shoot us as thieves they will certainly hang us as spies."

Casino nodded, and reached into his battered shirt to produce the switchblade the guards had taken from Chief. He handed it to the Indian with the air of a gundog presenting a partridge. "Yeah. Got your old can-opener for starters, babe."

Chief took the knife, clicked it open, and caressed the blade with the fingers of his free hand with the delicate passion of a lover.

Actor, watching, shivered. He had been mad even to think of touching the Indian. The light from the passageway outside spilling through the barred spyhole in the cell door caught the edge of the blade and revealed in Chief's concentrated gaze a fanaticism that was on the borderline of madness. If anyone, friend or enemy, disturbed Chief now they would not survive for five seconds.

At least if they could get the door open they had a weapon. Actor turned back to Casino. "You think you can open that lock?" he asked.

The cracksman reached into his mouth to retrieve his spring steel lockpick from its customary position hooked around his back teeth. With the tool between his fingers he moved to the cell door. "Come on. Have I ever missed?" he asked, rhetorically.

Actor ignored that. The despair had gone, replaced by a growing excitement that was the reason he had accepted Garrison's proposition in the first place. They could get out of here, get back to the cellar safehouse, and. maybe, if they were very lucky, the Warden would never know.

 

 _England. Late Summer 1943_

 

After the events of the past six months Actor was wondering why he had ever agreed to the Army's proposition, and, having done so, why he hadn't taken the opportunity to leave during the Destin affair - or on half a dozen occasions since. Half of the reason was his addiction to danger, half a fascination with what Garrison would think up next.

Though he could not really blame Garrison for the disaster that had been their last mission. The Warden had wanted to pull out right at the beginning. It was hardly his fault that he had come up against a better con artist than he was. Even so, they had been almost killed several times over, and Garrison himself had been seriously wounded. It was incredible that they had got out of France; doing it with four kids and a dog in tow was a miracle.

He grinned at his reflection, remembering the look on the face of the submarine commander when Louis had arrived on board. Getting the animal down the ladder into the boat had taxed his ingenuity to the limit.

At least the exercise had taken Garrison's mind off his own injury for the time it took to manoeuvre him aboard.

Actor sighed as he fitted the gold links into his cuffs. Therese Donet would have made a wonderful partner, as tough and resourceful as the Warden in her own way. And prettier.

He examined his reflection critically. Being turned down wasn't an experience that he wanted to repeat too often, and certainly not tonight. He decided that he would not need to worry. The midnight blue suit still fit perfectly and, although the style was two years out of date in New York, it would turn heads among the ladies here.

 

The dance had been the Colonel's idea. Actor had a suspicion that it was designed to keep the team, stood down during Garrison's enforced convalesence, out of trouble. He had expected that Garrison's wound would keep the team from active duty for at least a month, and was looking forward to an opportunity to spend some time in the fleshpots of London. But the Colonel was, in his own way, as devious as his protégé. The Sergeant Major had arrived the previous day with an invitation which amounted to an order to present themselves at a dance which had been arranged by the locals at the village hall on the following evening. Garrison's attempt at protest was overridden firmly.

"We've got to show the locals that we're friends," the Colonel had said. "Besides, your men have done good work in France. They deserve a night out. Just don't drink too much of the parsnip wine, and remember that these are nice English girls. You know the rules. Just go along and have a good time."

"Yes, sir." Garrison had sounded doubtful.

The Colonel had caught the tone and grinned. "You too, Lieutenant. Enjoy yourself. That's an order."

 

It was an order, Actor had to admit, that the Lieutenant was doing his best to obey. Despite the problems presented by rationing, the Blackout, and a proximity to London that put the village on the regular flightpath for bombers of both sides, the dance was lively. And the rest of the team were certainly enjoying themselves.

Casino had acquired a guitar from somewhere and was performing a passable version of As Time Goes By for a trio of admiring girls, while Goniff demonstrated what was either a tango or a Scottish sword dance to a redhead who obviously had no sense of rhythm. Chief was leaning on the mantelpiece of a fireplace which was far too small to heat the big room, listening intently to a surprisingly plain blonde girl, while Garrison...

Garrison was being the perfect gentleman. Having accompanied a succession of the village matrons onto the dance floor he was now helping the lady of the manor dispense cups of punch to the revellers. It was, Actor reflected, watching the women swarm around the American servicemen, amazing what the sight of a uniform could do to a woman.

Or a man.

When he'd made that comment about Garrison's pants it had been no more than a joking response to defuse the Lieutenant's temper. And it had worked. But he had spent the last half hour watching the man moving around the dance floor and, while Garrison had nothing of Chief's grace, he did have an astonishingly attractive body.

Actor took another sip of wine. The Colonel had been right, it was dangerous stuff, enough might give you dangerous ideas. Too much, and he might do something he would regret.

There was a creak from the stage and a whine from the speaker system as the band leader, another of the Colonel's victims, started to make his wind-up announcement. It was barely eleven o'clock, but the Brits liked their beauty sleep and the mothers would expect all good girls to be home by midnight. The bad girls would undoubtedly find somewhere else to continue getting to know their partners more intimately.

Actor contemplated moving in on one of Casino's entourage. He would hardly miss one or two, and the blonde, Carol, had already expressed an interest in him - or rather, in his access to six pairs of nylon stockings and unlimited cigarettes.

He was moving to take up the offer when he was stopped by Garrison escorting a tall, tipsy brunette.

"Mrs Dunwoody, this is Actor."

She hiccuped, and stared at him short sightedly through tortoiseshell-framed spectacles. "Actor?" she repeated, doubtfully.

"A nickname," he said, bowing over her hand.

"Oh, you Americans. All these funny names..." she fluttered.

"Not all Americans," he said, looking pointedly at Garrison. "And I am Italian by birth."

Her face fell. "But the Lieutenant said that you spoke French..."

"I do." Also German, Portuguese, Dutch, and, courtesy of a very pretty student called Mira, Serbo-Croat. He refrained from saying it. There were some things that even the Lieutenant didn't know, and the less said about that the better.

"Mrs Dunwoody has a French girl staying at the farm, a refugee. She thought that it would be nice if she could talk to someone in her own language. I suggested that you could take them both back tonight." Garrison was smiling politely.

Actor was well aware that, yet again, he was being manipulated. The Lieutenant's French was very nearly as fluent as his own. Nevertheless he nodded. Whatever Garrison's motives it would do him no harm to have the Warden in his debt. Besides, there was always a chance that he could dump the pair of them back at the Grange and still have time to take Carol up on her invitation.

Mrs Dunwoody was effusively grateful. "I do so hate walking these lanes in the dark. The blackout is so inconvenient. And of course, what with the rationing, we can only use the Rolls for essential journeys..."

"Of course," Actor gave her his most courtly bow, aware, from the corner of his eye, that Garrison was finding it difficult to hide his amusement at the conman's response. No doubt he would get a lecture on 'overacting' later. "Won't you introduce me to the young lady?"

"She was here a moment ago..." Mrs Dunwoody turned, spotted her stray lamb, and waved. "Michelle! Over here! Oui. Ici."

Listening to the lady's fractured accent Actor had some sympathy for the refugee. He had even more when, in response to the cry, a petite dark girl turned away from the group around Casino and made her way to their side.

"Ah, Michelle, this is..."

 _"Votre Chevalier à l'auto,"_ Actor broke in, sweeping another bow over her proffered hand, this time with more sincerity. The girl looked dubiously at her chaperone.

"Madame..."

Garrison shot the conman a look over her head which clearly conveyed the message: _Actor, behave yourself!,_ before turning to explain in his own impeccable French that the gentleman would drive them both back to the Grange.

 

Mrs Dunwoody had been quite right about the problems of driving in the Blackout. Both Chief and Casino has expressed their dislike of the narrow twisting English country lanes with their high hedges and flanking ditches, the latter loudly and at some length. Fortunately the Jeep, although not as comfortable as Mrs Dunwoody's much lamented Rolls Royce, rode high enough for Actor to see over the tops of the hedges and avoid any collisions with other partygoers making their way home on foot and by bicycle. It was, nevertheless, with some relief that he swung the vehicle through the gates which marked the boundary of the Dunwoody estate and pulled up on the raked gravel drive in front of the Grange.

"Home safely," he announced, as much in relief as reassurance.

The lady of the manor sighed her own relief. "Thank you so much. You must come in and have something before you drive back. I believe we may have some kedgeree left over from this morning - estate produce, of course - we have good fishing, and some very fine Buff Orpingtons."

Actor suppressed a shudder. English cooking had never appealed to him and the privations of rationing had done nothing to improve the native cuisine. "Thank you, but I should get back. Army Regulations..."

"Nonsense. Have some tea at least. You've barely spoken to Michelle, as your Lieutenant suggested."

Actor refrained from pointing out that they would have had plenty of opportunity for the girl to exercise her native language on the journey if Mrs Dunwoody had stopped talking herself for one minute. Besides, remembering the way that Garrison had manouvered him into this drive he had his doubts about that avowed intention, but it was not something that should concern the girl. He switched on his most winning smile. "Of course. I'd love to."

 

The proffered tea was as vile as he had anticipated, but its preparation had the virtue of distracting Mrs Dunwoody for long enough to give him some opportunity to speak to the girl.

She came from Lyons, a town which he had known moderately well before the War - well enough to discuss the main landmarks and to regret the effect which the War had had on them.

Although she spoke animatedly and occasionally used idioms that were unfamiliar to him, he had the impression that she was holding something back. Whether this was because of his own reluctance to stay, or Mrs Dunwoody's presence, he could not tell. In any case it was none of his business.

After a decent interval to digest the tea and as much of the repast as politeness demanded, he rose to take his leave.

"So soon? We'd hoped you could stay. The Lieutenant suggested it, and there is a room ready."

He bowed over her hand. "I am sorry, but duty calls. I have a busy day tomorrow; and I must return the Jeep to the Mansion. The Army is jealous of its property."

"Oh, of course. Some other time, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," he said, taking leave of Michelle with rather more warmth. The girl made her own excuses, and slipped out through the rear exit of the parlour as Mrs Dunwoody escorted Actor to the door,

 

Still lost in thought he crossed the gravelled drive and swung up into the driver's seat of the Jeep. As he did so a silent figure rose from the shadowed rear seat.

He bit off an oath. He had not expected an attack in England, and was slow in catching the hand that reached out to him. He found himself clutching a frail wrist, and pulled his assaliant forward more gently, expecting what he would find.

"Michelle!"

She nodded, quite composed. "M'sieur. You are hurting me..."

He dropped her hand by reflex. _"Pardon, M'mselle, quoi..."_ for a moment French deserted him. "What are you doing here? You went up to your room."

"I sneaked out. I had to speak with you. Privately."

"Sneaked out?" He glanced across at the dark house. He had heard her mount the stairs, and no-one had followed him out.

"Out of the window. There is ivy over the balcony, and a tree in the courtyard. It was easy."

Actor examined her indicated route. It was an egress that Goniff would have thought twice about. The balcony was wrought iron five years overdue for a coat of paint and almost rusted through, probably held up only by the thin stems of the ivy plant. And the nearest branch of the tree was at least ten feet from the house.

"If it is that important, you had better tell me."

She sat back in the seat, nursing her wrist. "I did try to speak to the so-charming Lieutenant, but as he insisted that you should accompany me I think perhaps he trusts you?"

"I sometimes wonder," Actor muttered.

"What?"

"With some things. What was it that you wanted to tell him?"

"To ask him." She suddenly looked less confident. "I want to go back to France. To help the Resistance."

"Shouldn't you have thought about that before you left?"

"I did. I told Pierre, my brother, but he does not believe that women can help in the War. He insisted that I come to England, for safety. I think that if I had not agreed to leave he would have bound me and put me in a boat himself."

Actor smiled. "I think that he might have found that difficult."

She grinned back. "Oh, he would. But... Pierre is a good boy. Since Mama and Papa were taken he has tried to protect me. If I had stayed in France he would not have been able to work for the Resistance as he wishes. So, I agreed to come here. To safety."

"Your brother is right. France is not a safe place for-"

"For a woman?"

He had already broken off the sentence before her interruption. Her face, turned up to his, eyes wide but far from innocent, had reminded him of another Frenchwoman, Therese Donet. He had underestimated her will, her determination. He would not do so again.

"For amateurs," he finished. "If you want to help to free your country you would need to be trained, to fight, to hide, to use a radio - and a gun."

"I know. That is why I wished to speak with your Lieutenant. Is not such training carried out at _le Manse?_ "

"If it is, we would not discuss it. Certainly not with strangers; foreigners. Where did you get that idea?"

"I have eyes. So many soldiers at this ball. And yet, you and your friends are not soldiers I think, though they wear American uniforms. And your French is very good, M'sieur. Yours is not a talent that I think the Allies would waste. So," again she met his eyes, her own very knowing, "will you help me?"

Actor had never been able to refuse a request from a beautiful woman, particularly when there was something in the arrangement for him. "I will do what I can, though you should have asked the Lieutenant. He has much more influence with the military than I have."

"Oh," she looked suddenly puzzled. "But he said that I should speak with you. In fact he was almost insistant. I thought..." She broke off.

Actor's expression was grim. "I'll talk to him," he said. "Don't worry about it. I think that, in this case, he owes you something. Now, I must go."

She rose and held out her hand. Distracted he shook it.

" _Merci_. Will I see you again, m'sieur?"

He shook his head, and left hurriedly, without a backward glance at the girl standing on the gravelled driveway.

 

When he reached the Mansion the gates were locked and the guard was unenthusiastic about letting him through.

"The Lieutenant said you 'ad a pass for the night. D'you know what time it is?"

Time I had a word with the Lieutenant.

The guard made to add something scathing, saw the look on Actor's face, and kept silent. He waved the Jeep through.

By the time the conman had parked the vehicle, gained admittance to the house and reached Garrison's office his temper had cooled enough to let him recognise the truth of the guard's words. It was late. Nearly two o'clock in the morning. Garrison was unlikely to be up, even if he had not found his own companionship for the night at the dance. If the Colonel was handing out night passes all of the team should take advantage of it.

But there was a light under the office door.

Garrison was sitting in the high-backed leather chair, a book open on his lap, a half-full glass of brandy and an open bottle on the table beside him. He did not move at Actor's entrance and, when the conman rounded the chair, he saw that the Lieutenant was fast asleep.

As so often in his unguarded moments - when he wasn't bawling them out or breaking German necks - he looked ridiculously young, his blond hair tousled against the wing of the chair, light eyes closed, masking their fire. He was breathing deeply and evenly, untroubled in sleep.

But something must have concerned him to keep him in this office when there was a proper bed only next door.

Conscience?

Actor's fury had subsided at the sight of him, abated by the realisation that he was young, inexperienced in so many things. He had never been raised to consort with criminals.

Well, he would have to learn that there were some things that he could not control, but this was not the time for the lesson.

The conman turned away, resisting the urge to drop a kiss between the closed eyes. He was stopped by a sleepy murmur.

"Actor?"

Quite unexpectedly his heart was in his throat. He swallowed and turned, expecting to meet accusing sage-green eyes.

Garrison had not woken, but he had moved, curled against the arm of the chair. The book had fallen from his lap as he shifted to press his crotch against the hard, warm leather. He was on the edge of arousal, caught in a dream.

Actor tried to convince himself that he had not heard his name on Garrison's lips - and failed. Almost he reached out to the Lieutenant, desperate for touch, all his resolution shattered. Somehow he suppressed the urge. The man was not responsible for his dreams. And he was still recouperating from his injuries. This was not the time, or the place. Tomorrow... tomorrow, when they were both rested and properly awake, he would have a word with the Lieutenant.

Carefully, and not without regret, he closed the door behind him and made his own way back to bed.

 

"So," Garrison said, motioning Actor to the chair as he crossed the room to seat himself behind the desk. "What was it you wanted to ask me?"

Actor leaned across to take a cigarette from the case on the desk. "When are you going to stop throwing women at me?"

To his credit, the Lieutenant did not deny the accusation. Instead he waited. Actor nodded, lit the cigarette, and leaned back to savour the first drag before adding, "I'm flattered that you think I have that much stamina; and by your opinion of my taste. They're nice girls; bright, beautiful, and willing. That girl last night - Michelle - she had asked to speak with you. Specifically. You were in too much of a hurry to push her over to me to listen to what she had to say."

"And what did she have to say?"

"That she wants to join Intelligence. She'd be good, too. You ought to get the Colonel to talk to her." Actor leaned forward to flick ash into the tray on Garrison's desk. He was not entirely surprised when the other man flinched away from the movement. "But that's irrelevant," he continued. "Whatever it is you're trying to do, it's not going to work." His expression, as his eyes met Garrison's over the curling smoke, was very serious. He was not going to accept excuses, and it was not in Garrison's nature to make them.

"It's kept your mind off Chief." he said.

Actor did not move, aware that his closeness was bothering Garrison. "You're not that stupid, Lieutenant. I haven't considered looking at Chief since we were locked in that cell in Toulon. And he hasn't had eyes for anyone but you since we broke Erlan out of Drenen. You're the one who needs to watch him, not me."

"I watch him," said Garrison, "because he needs someone to control him, not because I want to get into his pants..." He bit off the retort, conscious that he had lost his temper.

Actor was smiling. "And me," he asked, quietly. "You're very good at lying to the enemy. You're going to have to learn to lie to your friends - or stop lying to yourself. Why do you watch me, Warden?"

"I... you're..." Honesty fought discipline for control of Garrison's tongue.

Actor did not give him a chance to lie, or to order him out. He stubbed out the cigarette and leaned even further forward over the desk, close enough to whisper: "You've been throwing women at me to keep me away from you, not Chief. To convince yourself that I'm more interested in women than men. It hasn't worked, has it?"

Wordlessly Garrison shook his head.

"It hasn't worked for me either. They're nice girls. But they're not as... desirable... as you." The words ended as their lips met.

It was a brief kiss, no more than a touch to acknowledge feelings they had both been hiding for too long, feelings that held Garrison motionless for the time it took Actor to get to his feet, round the desk and take him properly in his arms.

It was a shock when Garrison pushed him away.

"You'd better go now," he said.

Startled, Actor loosened his hold. "Why? It's too late to start lying now, Lieutenant. You want me. " He looked pointedly at the growing bulge in Garrison's crotch, "There's not much point in denying it now."

"I'm not." The words were an obvious effort. "I can't deny it, Actor, but we have to forget it. This interview was... a mistake."

"So you want to pretend that it never happened?" Actor's eyes were ice.

Garrison nodded. Control was returning now and he sounded almost normal as he finally extracted himself from Actor's grip. "My mistake. We've been under stress for a long time. It's affected us all."

Actor looked at him carefully, then, with an air of decision, he nodded. "All right, Warden, have it your way. This interview never took place. But please," he smiled, with apparently no effort, "just stop matchmaking, eh? I can find my own women. In fact," he patted his breastpocket where the shape of his notebook showed through the fabric, "I might even let you have one or two addresses, if you're interested?"

In spite of himself Garrison laughed. It had always astonished him, the way that the conman could turn moments of tension into pure farce. "One woman, maybe," he said. "I'll remember what you've said, Actor. And I'll get the Colonel to talk to Michelle."

 

 _The French Riviera, Spring 1944_

 

Garrison wondered, as he bent to kiss the proffered cheek, whether Catherine Elizabeth Ramon, The Duchess, realised just how grateful he was to her. Grateful enough to let her and her unexpected partner go free with the proceeds of their audacious con.

It could not be payment enough. He was very conscious of how easily it could have been Actor standing beside her, conning them all for the sake of a pretty face, ten million francs and freedom on the other side of the Swiss border.

He glanced back at the tall conman. Actor was smiling, amused at being double crossed, and, perhaps, amused by Garrison's reaction to the situation. 'Don't throw women at me,' he had said, months before during that difficult interview in London. Since then Garrison had kept his word and had given Actor every opportunity to run, to find another partner, his own women. He had been rewarded for his pragmatism with an absolute, unswerving loyalty.

The Duchess had been his last test, his last attempt to prize the other man free of the hold he had on his heart.

As the door closed behind the departing tricksters the rest of the team relaxed.

"Blimey," said Goniff, "wait 'til Chiefy hears about this!"

"I'm sure you'll enjoy telling him when we get back."

"Yeah. Hey," Casino turned to Garrison, "when do we go back, Warden? Can't we have a few more days on the town?"

"Well," Garrison looked at his watch, "I'll need time to arrange our transport back home. Maybe one night. Just... don't get into trouble."

"Us?" Goniff looked hurt. "We just wanna do a little shopping, Warden. I promised Chief I'd take him back some candy."

"Bonbons," said Actor. "I know a little patisserie in the _Babazouk_. I'll give you the address." He took a sheet from the pad on the desk and scrawled directions and a brief note, tore it off and handed it to Casino. "Ask for Madame Chauvier and give her that. She'll look after you."

"Hey, aren't you coming too?"

Actor gave Garrison an unfathomable look. "Later, perhaps. The Warden and I need to settle with the hotel. I doubt if the Army will want to pay for that suite for any longer than they have to."

Garrison thought about that for a moment, then he nodded, taking the lead from Actor although he had no idea of what the conman had in mind. "Yes, you two go and enjoy yourselves. Just don't do anything illegal..."

"Warden!" Two would-be innocent voices were raised in unison.

"Well," Garrison amended, "don't get caught. And be back at the safehouse by breakfast."

Unable to believe their luck at being allowed loose in a town where women, wine, and, if Goniff had enough of the latter, song, were on offer Casino and Goniff departed before Garrison could change his mind.

 

It took longer than Garrison had expected to extricate themselves from the clutches of the Casino management without exciting suspicion. The Count had been a good customer, and settling his debts without admitting the 'loss' of his very public winnings had taken all of Actor's considerable skill. By the time they returned to the hotel it was very nearly midnight. Too late for Actor to book out without exciting even more speculation.

Garrison might have been suspicious about the timing, but the adrenalin 'high' which had powered him through the caper had long since worn off. He looked uneasily at the clock on the mantlepiece. "We should go and find the others, they could be in jail by morning. Neither of them speaks French."

"No, but Madame Chauvier does. Don't worry, Lieutenant, she will look after them, and see that they're entertained."

"And who is Madame Chauvier?" Garrison's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Have you sent the pair of them off to a brothel?"

Actor spread his hands in a gesture of protesting innocence which was belied by his grin. "Madame Chauvier runs a perfectly respectable sweet shop. Now. Of course, it is in the _Vielle Ville_ , and she does have some very nice girls as neighbours... I don't think that you have to worry about Casino and Goniff, Lieutenant."

Garrison mirrored the grin. "I never thought of you as a pimp, Actor."

It was said lightly, but the other man became suddenly serious. "I didn't think that you were, either. I thought I told you to stop throwing women at me, Warden."

Garrison bit his lip. "I wasn't..."

"No? You practically forced the Duchess into bed with me. It wasn't your fault she went off with Bernado. Tell me, what would you have done if it had been me heading for the Swiss border with that woman and ten million francs? Was that what you wanted?"

"No!" This time the denial was instinctive. Actor reached out to take Garrison's shoulders in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"Did you think that I'd leave you that easily?"

"Actor, I thought... I hoped... Dammit, _I don't know what I wanted._ " The last words were an anguished cry. They released the tension in both men.

"I think I do," said Actor, and pulled him forward into a passionate embrace.

 

It was some minutes before Garrison recovered enough to release himself, and when he did he found that Actor had propelled them both through the folding doors into the inner room. He took a long, deep breath. There was only one way that this could end, and he was still not sure what he wanted. Or what Actor wanted.

"You," the conman answered when he put the question. Adding, "Did you think I stayed just because I wanted that parole?"

Garrison shook his head. "I wondered about it. Then I figured you stayed around for the cons."

"Which was why you thought the Duchess might tempt me? Maybe she would have, if you'd tried it a few months ago, but it's too late now. The only partner I want is you." He emphasised the comment with a proprietorial squeeze of Garrison's buttock. The Lieutenant jumped and swiped his hand away, forcing Actor to sit down hard on the silk-covered king size bed.

"Chief was right. You do leave bruises."

"I doubt it." From his new position Actor's eyes were level with the object in question. "Get your pants off and I'll check."

"I bet you don't use that line on your women," said Garrison, as he unbuckled his belt.

"Only the ones who wear pants."

Unseen, Garrison grinned as he finished unfastening his zipper and bent to pull off his shoes and socks. He was not surprised when long fingers slipped under his waistband and stroked over the spot where Actor had pinched him, but he gasped when, as he slid out of his clothes, the fingers were replaced by lips and a damp tongue.

"What..."

"Sshhh..." The breath teased the cleft, stirred the hairs on his testicles. He responded with a jerk, and was held by an arm around his waist before being tumbled down onto the bed.

"Actor."

The other man sighed, and this time it was not deliberate stimulation. "Warden, we're not going to talk any more about this. You want me and I want you. I'm the expert here. Just let me show you how much I want you."

Expert was right. With no more than a touch and a breath the conman had brought him erect. If his body responded so easily then Actor was right; he had been denying his need for the other man for far too long. He expelled his own breath in a long sigh and relaxed onto the bed in acquiescence.

He had expected, from the desperation in Actor's seduction, that they would both come quickly. He was close to orgasm already, and Actor had sounded... tense. But the other man had not lied about his expertise. The deft hands caressed him, relaxed him, fired sensations that he had no name for. Lips touched nerves at throat, waist and thigh that he had not known could induce sexual reaction. When he came, in response to no more than the pressure of a hand in damp pubic hair, every muscle seemed to contract, from his toes to the hairs on his scalp, to force all the essence of his being into Actor's waiting palm.

"You..." He broke off. Allowed now to speak, there were no words for what he felt in any language he knew. Thanks were inadequate, oaths inappropriate. Instead he reached up and drew Actor's lips down to his own.

It was only when he broke the kiss that he realised how little he had given the other man. There was desire still in Actor's eyes, but not satisfaction. And he realised that his own skill at lovemaking did not match the conman's. He could not reciprocate.

The thought had barely formed when Actor solved his dilemma, tipping him out of his arms to lie sprawled across the dishevelled bed. The long fingers caressed his buttocks again, but this time they did not move on to other pleasures.

 _I want you_ , Actor had said, and after what he had already permitted, he could not refuse this.

Except that -

In training he had learned how to counter a sexual attack. Buggery had been discussed only as a method of torture and every instinct screamed at him to throw the other man off and snap his neck.

He suppressed it by sheer force of will. This was meant to be pleasure. Only moments before he had welcomed these hands on his body, had wanted to seek his own union with the source of that elation. If he could not match Actor's expert lovemaking, he could at least offer the other man a method of release.

And besides, there were others who found pleasure in it.

Resigned, he concentrated on the feel of the silk under him, the lips and tongue running down his spine, the taste of his own sweat in his mouth, on anything but the hands caressing his ass... He was remembering his first drink of alcohol, his first cigarette, his first girl... There was a point at which you stopped feeling sick and discovered the pleasures of vice. He hoped, as Actor's fingers probed deeper and more painfully, that the moment would come soon. And that, when it did, he would not cry out too loudly.

The other man must have been reading his mind. He leaned over, caught the lobe of Garrison's ear in his teeth, nipped, and then ran his tongue around the edge before plunging it deep into the cup. Pleasure rippled through Garrison as the gentle probing finally took his mind from the deeper penetration.

"It's a question of ballistics," whispered Actor, moving carefully over him, "of getting the right elevation and angle..."

They were the last words he heard before laughter and orgasm overwhelmed him.

 

"You do realise," said Garrison, helping himself to a glass of somewhat flat Champagne, "that I am never going to be able to listen to a lecture on ballistics again without disgracing myself?"

Actor's eyes held all the sparkle that was missing from the wine. "Sweet revenge," he said. "You never had to listen to the Sergeant Major on the subject."

"Hmm. Well, if that's what makes you randy I'm glad I didn't." Garrison shifted up against the padded bedhead to raise his glass in a toast. Actor did not miss the wince as he moved.

"Laughter is a good aphrodisiac," he said, "but a bad lubricant. I'm afraid that you're going to be sore for a while. I should have found some cream."

"Next time," said Garrison, so casually that it took them both a while to recognise the significance of the comment.

"You mean the next time that we find ourselves with a double bed, out of reach of the army, and can get rid of Goniff, Casino and Chief? I don't see that happening again in my lifetime, Lieutenant."

"As Casino says, you gotta have faith, Actor. I'm sure I'll think of something..." He hesitated, put down the glass on the bedside table, and turned to look straight into Actor's eyes. "Unless you just wanted this to be a one night stand?"

For answer, Actor put down his own glass, took Garrison in his arms as he had done those few hours ago, and kissed him, long and deeply. "One night," he said at last, against Garrison's lips, "was more than I ever hoped for."

Garrison nodded. "There will be others. In the meantime, we have this suite for another three hours, and there is a bath that's easily big enough for two. Finish your wine and we'll see if we can find a use for it."

Actor drained his glass. "You do have such inventive ideas, Lieutenant. I think that's what I love most about you."

"Mmmm," murmured Garrison, "and I thought it was just my ass."

"Not _just_ your ass," Actor replied, running his free hand over it, "You've got a beautiful body, Warden. Especially when you're wet," he added reminiscently.

Garrison sighed and swung his legs out of the bed. "I guess that's a hint. All right, I'll run the bath. We'd better take advantage of it before we get back to England and water rationing."

The bath, a splendid concoction of gold veined pink marble with gilded fittings in the shape of lion's heads, was more of a small pool. As Garrison had said, it was easily big enough for both of them, but it took a correspondingly long time to fill. Time for Garrison to think about the past few hours.

 _I love you for your ideas,_ Actor had said. And this had been his idea, despite the fact that he had let the other man take the initiative.

Ever since their first missions he had been attracted to Actor, to his competence and his compassion. Half of the reason why he had been so hard on the conman for going off during the Destin affair had been his own sense of betrayal. And then, in Norway, when he had been hauled into Mantsreeling's office to find Actor waiting for him... he had felt more than simple relief for the rescue. What he had seen in the conman's eyes was... desire.

For nearly a year he had tried to convince himself that it was not happening. Even tonight he could have avoided this, have gone with Goniff and Casino for a night on the town. Perhaps even sampled Madame Chauvier's 'bonbons'.

But...

There had been the thought of the suite, with its double bed. And the bath...

Which was now full. Actor, who had come up behind him during his deliberations, reached around to turn off the faucets and to throw a generous handful of crystals into the water. A warm scent of musk filled the room.

"Second thoughts?" he asked, laying a hand gently on Garrison's steam-damp shoulder.

The Lieutenant shook his head and, to mask his confusion, slipped into the water, rolling like a seal to look up into the taller man's face.

"Actor," he began, and then paused. "Hell, I can't call you that. Not when we're making love anyway. What is your name?"

The Italian's expression closed briefly as he abandoned his robe and stepped down into the other end of the pool. "You've read my dossier," he said.

Garrison snorted with derision, "Half a page of aliases, and those are only the ones the police know about. What do you want me to call you?"

The brown eyes danced as Actor knelt forward to straddle the other man. " _Caro,_ " he said, running gentle hands up Garrison's thighs under the concealing bubbles, _"amoro, liebling, cherie."_ He punctuated each word with a kiss, finally reaching Garrison's ear to whisper, so quietly that it was barely audible, "Lover."

Not sure whether it was an answer to his question or a statement of Actor's own feelings, Garrison surrendered to the seduction, responding with his own caresses, using all the words his lover had asked and all the touches he had learned that night. Relaxed by the water it was some time before he realised how aroused he was. And realised something else. This time he wanted to take Actor. Part revenge, part possession, wholly passion. The thought alone brought a response and the conman jumped as Garrison's fingers tightened their grip, pulling him down on top of the Lieutenant.

" _Caro?_ " Actor attempted to turn into the embrace but was halted by Garrison's hold, and a leg hooked over his thigh. Recognising the other man's intent, all too obvious from the stiff cock thrusting between his legs, he nodded.

"Wait," he said, releasing himself and moving to sit in Garrison's lap, long legs hooked up over his thighs and locked behind his back. "You don't want to drown, do you?"

Taking a nod for assent, Actor reached for a bottle of bath oil on the marble shelf. "This time we'll make it easier."

"Can't wait..." Garrison's eyes screwed shut as he concentrated on the sensations at his groin, Actor's fingers slick with oil and soft with bubbles, stroking him and then, after a brief withdrawal to prepare his own body, guiding him up between his thighs, into wiry hair and, further back, into the oiled entrance to his body.

 _...get the angle right..._

Garrison came at the thought, lunging forward into tight, warm flesh, held by hands on his own ass, the pressure of heels in the small of his back, and the warm water lifting him on a tide of ecstasy to completion.

No, he had not wanted to drown; but it was too late, he had gone down for the third time, in every sense, and the siren who had lured him onto the rocks now owned him, body and soul.

A fact of which the siren, who was definitely more of a Rhine maiden than a mermaid, seemed blissfully unaware. Actor disentangled himself, not without some difficulty on the slippery marble, and stood, letting water cascade down his body. Garrison watched the play of muscles in the long legs, emphasised by water-darkened hair, appreciatively. Conscious of the inspection, revelling in it, Actor stretched with a groan.

"That," he said, "was wonderful. And, water rationing or not, we must do it again. Only next time, you get the end with the faucets."

Garrison grinned. "Toss you for it?" he suggested.

"Only if I get to use Goniff's double headed penny."

"If we ever do get the chance I might just let you. But right now we have to give up this suite before dawn, or the army starts paying rent."

"I can always sign another of the Count's blank cheques," Actor pointed out, reaching down a hand to pull Garrison to his feet and into his arms. With the cooling water lapping round their calves they kissed again, long and deeply. When Actor finally released him it was with a sigh of regret. "Back to reality," he said. "At least now I've got one more reason to stay alive 'til the end of this war."

"Not just the parole then?"

"It never was just the parole, Warden. You knew that, even before I fell in love with you."

The admission, casual and honest, sent a thrill of delight through Garrison, but he covered it with no more than a grin. "Then you're going to have to stop calling me 'Warden', at least in private. I'd prefer 'Craig'."

Actor shook his head. "No," he said decisively, "You should stay in character, Lieutenant. No slip-ups. If I forgot and called you that in front of the others I'd risk undermining your command."

"I guess..." Garrison tried to turn away, and was stopped by a hand on his chin.

"Besides, you are a warden. The warden of my heart."

They had time for one more kiss before dawn.

 

~END~


End file.
